


10 Things I Hate About You

by AbedNadir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crack, Cultural References, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Teenage Drama, high school is hard, hipster warning, politically incorrect speech
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbedNadir/pseuds/AbedNadir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.</p><p>Things Charles Xavier has time for:<br/>-gender equality<br/>-checking the mail for his Oxford acceptance letter<br/>-Aaron Ramsey</p><p>Things he does not have time for:<br/>-Hemingway<br/>-Sebastian Shaw and his merry band of misogynists<br/>-any of your bullshit</p><p>Charles knows that high school is only a brief moment that can determine his whole future--whether or not he gets in Oxford, for example. But it's difficult to keep that in mind when it feels like this brick and mortar purgatory will never end.<br/>Yet, if things weren't already fucked up, Erik Lehnsherr is suddenly interested in him and he has no idea why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This first paragraph is brief author babble, so if you don't care, skip to the second for warnings explanations. This is my first X-Men fic and I kept telling myself that I wasn't going to post anything until I had the story at least half done. *cough* You see, lovely people of the internet, I have at least twenty writing ideas at any given moment, and at this given moment, I have about twelve chapters in five different X-Men stories. But who cares if I don't have this story done right now? Approximately six people are going to read it anyway. So I'm posting this first chapter of an unfinished story in the hope that staring at the 1/? chapter list will shame me into finishing this. Know that I am a fandom baby, and be gentle.
> 
> I included a warning for Underage just to be safe, but all the relationships take place between people of the same age. No one of age has a relationship with someone underage. The other warning I added in the tags is for "politically incorrect speech". Some of the characters will say things that are wrong and offensive, and some of the characters say things that are, at best, in a very grey area of political correctness, even if they belong to a minority group. I don't personally feel the way some of these characters do, but I believe they reflect very real people and opinions in the world. Even so, if hate speech or politically incorrect speech is a trigger for you, this may not be a good story to read. 
> 
> No lifeguard on duty-- swim at your own risk

“Hey there! You Hank McCoy?”

A tall, thin kid with curly red hair walked over to where Hank was standing at his new locker. Hank resisted the urge to adjust his glasses. New school, new attempt at being cool.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Cool, I’m Sean, the office sent me to show you around.” Sean held out a hand for Hank.

Hank shook his hand, grinning. “Oh good, ‘cause usually they send some computer club geek—“

“Ah ha ha HA!” Sean laughed loudly, slapping a hand on Hank’s shoulder.

Another kid walking by, kind of short and scrawny and a clear need for Proactive, with a cart of laptops interrupted. “Hey Sean, where should I set up for the—“

“Who’s Sean?” Sean grabbed Hank’s arm and towed him away, leaving the other kid looking confused. “New school huh? Why’d you transfer with two months left in the year?”

“Oh, my dad’s in the army, so we have to move a lot,” Hank sighed. “It’s a real pain to start right before the end of the year, but Dad got some big promotion, so.”

“Not to worry, Hank, you’re in good hands. I know this place inside and out like the July issue of _Playboy_.” Sean pointed to a cluster of students standing at the end of a row of lockers. “See now, right there are your classic Beautiful People. Just remember not to make eye contact or speak to them, unless they speak to you.”

“Is that like an official rule?”

“Uh huh, watch this.” They’re passing the kids as they speak and Sean suddenly turned to them with a bright smile and said, “Hey there!”

“Blow me,” a blonde guy snarled back while his friends stared on in shock.

“Okay!” Sean kept walking and looked back to Hank. “See? Now, over here we have the mainstream hipsters—I know, I know, seems like an oxymoron, but makes complete sense,” Sean pointed to about five or six plaid and cardigan clad teenagers with skinny jeans and glasses that bear an uncomfortable resemblance to Hank’s crowded around a coffee cart.

A girl with waist-length brown hair streaked with pink pushed a paper cup back to the barista. “No, no, I said Lapsing OOLONG, not African ROOBOIS; god, do I look like I frequent Starbucks or something?”

Sean continued forward. “Don’t insult their delicate sensibilities by asking them if they like any bands—if you know it, it’s too mainstream for them. Although,” Sean took another assessing look at Hank. “Are you sure that’s not your crowd? You have the eyewear for it.”

Hank shuddered. He’d rather be dead than be a hipster. “Definitely not, I don’t even like coffee. I’ve just had these glasses too long to get used to anything else.”

“Right on!” Sean nodded. “Okay, on your left you’ll notice a display of green stoners—they’re the kind who likes to debate politics and philosophy instead of just listening to Marley. Try not to get sucked into to one of those talks because—“

“—all they can talk about is why we should legalize it?” Personally, Hank would vote in favor of any measure to legalize marijuana solely so that stoners would have nothing else to talk about ever again.

“Exactly,” Sean tilted his head thoughtfully. “I still can’t decide which kind of stoner is more annoying, that kind or the ones who don’t give a fuck but force you to listen to reggae for hours on end. Anyway! Next stop on the tour is that table over there, the—“

“—wait, I can guess this one: the country crowd?”

“Pretty much, but I call them the Duck Dynasty cult. I have never claimed to have any fashion sense, but I really don’t understand bedazzling a camouflage shirt. Like, what is that? Are you trying to blend in to a forest with disco balls? Anyway, watch out for them on Wednesdays because that’s when they practice lasso tricks for the rodeo club.”

“Noted.” What new layer of hell is this place?

“Here are your future chart toppers—Josh Groban types to the Muse wannabees. We’re all nationally ranked in various school music groups: jazz, a cappella, choral, show, chamber choir. What’s up, guys?” Sean asked the preppy-looking music kids as they passed. But they glared at Sean suspiciously, one kid slid his sheet music under his textbooks, and no one said anything in reply.

Hank gave Sean a curious look. Sean sighed. “Last week I was a god! I was their Adele!”

“What happened?” Hank has to admit; he would not have pegged Sean as a singer.

“Oh, it’s stupid. Buddy Liderstein started a rumor that I, well, that I hate _Glee_.” At Hank’s blank look, he frowned. “C’mon, the show about kids singing in a glee club? And it’s so not true, but—“

“—Oh. My. _God_.”

Hank could feel his jaw drop as he stared in awe across the courtyard at the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Long, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, shiny pink lips… and a blue and white sundress that hinted at two truly spectacular breasts. She had a twinkle in her eyes that he felt like was sparkling just for him, even all the way across the yard. He watched her walk across the sidewalk talking to another girl at her side. Oh god, even her walk was bouncy and happy, like an angel gliding on clouds without a care in the world.

“Wow… what group is she in?”

“The Never In A Million Years group. Listen, don’t even waste time thinking about her. She’s unattainable. Extremely square father, and it’s a well-known fact that the Xaviers don’t date.”

Hank felt his heart twinge a little as the girl laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder and smiling at her friend. “Who is she?” he asked Sean without looking away from the girl.

“That’s Raven Xavier. Sophomore, and definitely one of the Beautiful People.”

“I burn, I pine, I _perish_ ,” Hank breathed, watching as she and her friend strolled closer to where he and Sean were standing.

“Why wouldn’t you? Sure she’s beautiful, and deep too, absolutely.”

Raven and her friend are finally close enough that he could just manage to hear what they’re talking about as they pass by. Her friend, a pretty Latina girl with shiny dark hair, asked, “But I love my Pumas.”

Raven nodded with a look of great solemnity. “That’s because you don’t have a Kate Spade bag. And you can’t understand real love until you do.”

The two girls kept walking, one newly enlightened, without taking any notice of the two boys staring after them.

Sean rolled his eyes. “Listen, all there is to that girl is exactly what’s on the surface: a spoiled princess wearing a perfectly-coordinated outfit to make guys like us miserable knowing we’ll never have her, and make guys like, uh, Sebastian over there, realize they want to have her. She is, my friend, what you will spend the rest of your life missing. Unless you nerd out and invent something that makes you a billionaire. Then when you’re forty you can get girls like that. So until then, put her in your wank bank and forget it.”

“No, no way, you couldn’t be more wrong about her!” Hank protested. “I mean, um, not about the, you know,” he amended, face turning red. “Other than that, you’re wrong.”

Sean looked like he both wanted to punch Hank in the face and give him a hug. Which was a little offensive; he was new here, not an idiot. But he must have decided to take pity on Hank. “Your timing isn’t all that terrible, she’s actually looking for a tutor right now. And that’s the only way you’re getting close to her, trust me.”

At Hank’s confused look, Sean rolled his eyes again. “Like I said, her dad’s a nutjob. He doesn’t let the kids date. So _Raven_ isn’t allowed to date. And since you are so not in her crowd, the only way you’re talking to her is if a teacher forces you together on a group project, or if you want to be her French tutor.”

“That’s perfect!” Hank grinned.

“Oh, do you speak French?” Sean sounded impressed.

“Well, no. But I will!” Hank was very excited. This was a perfect chance to get close to Raven, even better than having a class with her or trying to talk to her at lunch or in the hall or something. They would be alone, she would actually pay attention when he talked to her, and she would be sitting _right next to him_. Learning French was a minor detail, he could do that.

Sean was not convinced. “You’re going to learn French by three pm? A whole language?”

Hank shrugged. “Can’t be any harder than organic chem, I learned that when I was thirteen.”

The redhead gawked at him. “Um, what? Dude, how old are you?”

Hank hastily stowed his sweating hands in his pockets. He hated this part. “I’m going to be sixteen in a few weeks and it’s not a big deal, I just skipped a few grades until my parents wouldn’t let me skip anymore, so—“

“Wait. So you’re a fifteen-year-old _senior_? And you’re going to go college at sixteen?” Sean definitely looked stunned now, but that was better than freaked out.

“Er, kind of. I already started taking classes at the community college in my last town, so. I’ll probably be able to graduate in like two and half years from a university.”

Hank waited nervously for Sean to say something, but it was only a few seconds before Sean shrugged. “That’s cool I guess. If you’re that much of a genius, you should be able to learn French. Although I gotta tell you, buddy,” Sean smirked, “I really don’t know if I believe you’re a genius. You’re going after Raven Xavier, who is the second-least datable kid on campus, maybe the first if you exclude barely-human shrews.”

Hank laughed, more out of nervous relief than anything. This guy didn’t think he was the freak-genius new kid, _and_ he now had an in with Raven. He was feeling like this was the start of something great. “You like Einstein, Sean?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to—“

“Einstein said that you never fail until you stop trying.”

“—quote him,” Sean sighed. “Alright, new kid. Today, just for you, let’s believe in the impossible.”

Hank beamed back at him. “You just wait, Sean. In two weeks, we’re going to be at prom, and I’m going to be there with Raven Xavier.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll be there with a lingerie model. However until that glorious moment, we should get to class so we don’t get banned from the prom for truancy.”

“Oh, right. Where’s the science building?”

Sean grabbed his schedule out of his hands and started walking. “Follow me, boy wonder.”

Hank ran after Sean in the direction of the building they’d just come from. All in all, not the worst first day of school he’s ever had. No one’s laughed at him, or called him a geek, and he already had someone to sit with at lunch. Not bad at all.

 

* * * * * * * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, for some serious snark, courtesy of Charles!
> 
> Um, but seriously, beware the politically incorrect speech? It's real, yo.

The bell rang for second period as the last few kids ambled in from the hallway. It’s a Monday, which means that everyone is half-conscious and debating the risks of skipping the rest of the day — more than usual, anyway.

Charles dug through his bag for his school copy of the damn Hemingway book. Tempting as it is to throw it away, it would be a bitter pill to have to buy a replacement. He’d rather set a $20 bill on fire than have it go to whomever currently profits from Hemingway’s prejudiced shit.

He finally located the ragged novel and placed it on his desk next to the notes he prepared for class today. Hemingway may be an asshole, but he’s not costing Charles valedictorian. Charles has perfect grades, which isn’t that impressive in a public high school in America. It’s probably due to those grades that he doesn’t get suspended as often as he insults the intelligence and competence of his teachers. That, and his father’s frequent and generous checks to the school booster society.

Mr. Muñoz clapped his hands together to get class started. Mr. Muñoz is the only teacher in school who doesn’t give a damn who Charles’s father is, and would probably give him detention if he could justify it. Charles would admire him for that, but the man refuses to listen to anything he has to say. So what if he talks more than anyone else in class? At least he has something productive to add to the discussion. 

“Okay everyone, put your phones away, please, no one on Twitter cares what you’re doing right now. How did we like  _ A Farewell to Arms _ ?” Mr. Muñoz asked.

The girl seated next to Charles sighed dreamily. “I loved it. He’s so romantic.”

Charles scoffed before he could stop himself and Mr. Muñoz threw him some serious shade. 

“Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive, alcoholic homophobe who spent half his life pretending he didn’t want to screw Fitzgerald.”

He could practically feel the girl and Mr. Muñoz rolling their eyes in unison, but fuck them, he was right. 

“Why can’t we read something that isn’t sexist crap? What about Marcel Proust, or Walt Whitman or Jack Kerouac? E.M.Forster’s  _ Maurice— _ ”

“—or why don’t we watch gay porn since that’s clearly what you really want?” Sebastian interrupted, smirking like he actually thought he was being clever when Charles spun around to face him. 

Bastard. Charles hadn’t even finished his sentence. 

“I guess in the States, being male and an asshole gives you speaking privileges over everyone else,” Charles retorted, letting his normally unobtrusive English accent sharpen. 

The rest of the students laughed and oohed while Sebastian narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

Satisfied, Charles turned back around in his chair to face Mr. Muñoz. “There are plenty of classic authors, American authors if it’s important, whose writing is just as worthwhile and explores more complex issues.”

The door banged open, startling the whole class. It was almost ten minutes into the first period; anyone this late was supposed to get a detention. 

Erik Lehnsherr stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “What’d I miss?” he asked when he saw everyone staring at him.

Charles spared him a glance before looking away. “Only the suffocating sexist ideals that make up our education,” Charles said dryly to the whiteboard. 

“Oh. Good.” Lehnsherr panted, then whirled around and left.

“Hey!” Mr. Muñoz shouted indignantly from the front, straightening up off his desk like he was about to chase Lehnsherr down the hall.

“Mr. Muñoz,” Sebastian cut in, halting the teacher, “is there any way we can get Charles to take his Prozac  before he comes to class?” Sebastian said, already laughing, and turned behind him to receive a fist bump. 

Charles looked at him, feeling the familiar rush of old hate whenever Sebastian reminded him of what he’d done to Charles almost four years ago. He fantasized idly about sneaking into the chemistry lab during lunch to make an odorless poison for the privileged little shit. Wouldn’t that be satisfying?

“Pipe down, Bieber,” Mr. Muñoz barked. Sebastian’s smugness slid off his face like molasses. “One of these days, you’re gonna get bitch-slapped, and I won’t do a damn thing to stop it.” 

Sebastian stared back at Mr. Muñoz without saying anything, but he shouldn’t be surprised; it was hardly the first time their teacher had verbally eviscerated him. He’d only just stopped calling Sebastian an MTV  _ Real World _ reject when he realized Sebastian took it as a compliment. And because Charles had told him after class that his references were getting really dated. 

“Charles, I want to thank you for speaking up. It must be rough, spending your life battling that upper-class, elitist oppression. What is it you white kids whine about now, non-organic cafeteria food? Maybe the next time you send around a petition for the school board, you should ask them to buy a book written by a black man!” Mr. Muñoz shouted, hitting his palm on his desk for emphasis.

“Preach!” one of the hipsters with shoulder-length white boy dreads shouted from the back. “It’s these fascist pigs in Washington, man—”

“—don’t  _ even _ with me today,” Mr. Muñoz interrupted. 

Charles was seething. What, because he was white, he’d never faced prejudice? He had to clean pink glitter out of his locker at least once a week. And that was the most harmless prank of everything that he’s been subjected to since people found out he was gay. When he walked down the halls, people actually swerved to avoid touching him because they claimed he was going to give them HIV. 

“Is that all?” Charles said through his teeth.

Mr. Muñoz looked back to him. “Yeah, march on down to the office, you’re pissing me off.”

“What! I didn’t—”

“—see ya!” Mr. Muñoz gave him the hand and walked to his desk.

Charles rolled his eyes. Fine. Like he really wanted to listen to the rest of these idiots wax poetic about Hemingway until the end of class. He made sure to smack Sebastian with his messenger bag as he slung it over his shoulder and stomped out of the room. 

Fuck Hemingway, fuck Mr. Muñoz, and definitely fuck Sebastian. Urgh, or, actually not, poor choice of words. Charles winced just picturing that as he walked as slowly as he could through the hallway. He could stall for a few minutes before he had to be in the office and tried to weigh the pros and cons of making a trip out to the coffee cart before they sent someone to look for him. 

Not worth it. He turned down the hall to the office instead. He’d be mildly scolded then mildly sexually harassed, and out of the office in less than five minutes. She wouldn’t care what he did with the rest of the period, so he could get a coffee and hide in the library. 

Charles walked into the main part of the office and spotted Anna Marie from the GSA club over by the bulletin board. 

“Hey Rogue,” Charles said as he walked over to her, remembering only at the last second she had recently decided to adopt a name that was gender-neutral and queer-friendly. He didn’t know if that annoyed him or impressed him; he tried not to be overly judgmental of straight people adopting parts of LGBT culture. After all, that was the S in the Gay-Straight Alliance. 

She smiled up at him from the poster announcing the GSA’s next meeting. “Hey Charles. About time you showed up, I’ve been here for ten minutes.”

“Har har, very funny.”

Rogue shrugged. “I try.”

Indistinct murmuring reached him from the nearest open door, which the secretary had just exited. She resumed her seat at the main reception desk, looking thoroughly unsettled. “You can go in now, Mr. Xavier,” she directed Charles forward. 

Charles walked up to the door, pausing to listen. 

“...stiff...turgid…”

“...tumescent?” Charles suggested. Reginald must be giving her quite a hard time today.

Ms. Frost’s head snapped up to look at him. “Perfect!”

When Ms. Frost wasn’t telling impressionable children how to change themselves to fit in, or calling for the secretary to bring her more herbal tea, she was horrifying any helpless passerby by pondering graphic descriptors for her romance novel.  _ The Fiery Flames of Furor _ was her long-time labor of love. She’d been working on it at least four years, because Charles had managed to read a few chapters in their first meeting his freshman year, while she was talking with his father in the hallway. Even with his mother taking off a few weeks before, and the atomic bomb that was Sebastian Shaw trying to ruin his life, the lusty imagination of Reginald St. Ashbyton and his simpering object of devotion was still putrefying enough to make an impact. 

She typed in the elusive adjective while Charles took a seat. Today she wore, in a bold and exciting change-up from last week, a  _ cream _ -colored sweater set with her pearls and perfectly-curled tresses. Perhaps Ms. Frost had a fight with the only significant other in her life— White. Charles considered getting sent to the office on purpose tomorrow so he could check the progress of his hypothesis. 

“Mr. Muñoz just gave me a nice update,” Ms. Frost broke into his chain of thought. “Maybe you should take a break from terrorizing his class; I have to fill out so many forms every time he sends you here.” 

He couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Expressing my point of view is not a terrorist action.”

Ms. Frost raised one immaculate eyebrow. “Oh, like you ‘expressed your point of view’ to John Allerdyce in the lunch line?” Ms. Frost shot back. 

Of course she would bring that up, and of course it didn’t matter what John had been doing at the time. He didn’t reply.

“His surgery went well. They managed to reattach his testicles, in case you were wondering,” she added. 

He wasn’t.

“I maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.”

Ms. Frost pursed her lips as much as she could without risking wrinkles, which she had a powerful phobia of. Charles didn’t know why; the woman was the definition of an ice queen. Never a hair out of place, never any expression but aloof disdain.

“The problem is, Charles,” Ms. Frost paused, choosing her words of advice to teenagers with much less care than her varied allusions to male genitalia, “people here see you as…”

“Formidable?”

“Heinous bitch is the favorite one,” she corrected. “Among faculty and the kids.”

Charles considered that. Earning the hatred of an entire student body obsessed with Kim K’s ass and the next Chris Brown comeback was… rather flattering. He smiled.

Ms. Frost managed to look concerned for a few seconds. “You should fix that, sugar. I’m getting tired of seeing you this often. Thank you,” she waved him off, a clear dismissal. No doubt her sweaty muscled hero and flower-like heroine needed her attention.

He shouldered his messenger bag and stood. “I must thank you, yet again, for your excellent guidance.” Charles walked to the door, but he couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I’ll let you get back to Reginald’s quivering member,” he threw over his shoulder. After all, he wasn’t supposed to know about her little novel.

But hearing Ms. Frost’s little exclaim of delight, it hadn’t been a barb as much as a brief moment of inspiration. 

Dismayed, he wasn’t paying attention as he left, and slammed into a solid chest moving in a hurry. The impact bounced him back into the counter hard enough to bruise his hip.

“Fuck!” Charles swore, clutching at his side like that was going to help. He looked up to see Erik Lehnsherr frowning at him. “Were you too busy practicing a brooding stare to look where you were going?” Charles demanded.

Oddly enough, the insult made Erik smile, though he said nothing in reply.

Fine. He had a cappuccino with his name on it. “Whatever. Get out of my way, Rochester,” Charles snapped as he shoved past him. He heard a bark of laughter and turned back to look, but Lehnsherr had already disappeared into Ms. Frost’s office.

Christ. The day wasn’t even half-over, and he was already bruised, bitter, and ready to scream. He was getting a goddamned chocolate biscuit with his coffee.

 

* * * * * * * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, lovely people of Earth!  
> Before I posted any of this story, I had three chapters already written. But the third chapter I had (which is Charles's POV here) I thought was too short, so the delay is due to my meddling and naturally it ended up at double the length it was.  
> Also, I am sending air kisses to everyone who has left kudos and comments; it's very encouraging. You are wonderful <3

After the last bell, Hank rushed to put books away in his locker and pack his backpack. He was supposed to meet Sean at his locker and he still had trouble with the confusing layout of the school. Hank was feeling even more grateful that his dad let him keep his car in the move, because if he had to try and figure out the school bus system today, he would be walking home. The curriculum here was a few months behind his old school, so he broke with tradition and left all his books in his locker instead of taking them home to read over like he usually did at a new school. But he did have an entire language to learn tonight; that was going to have to take precedence.

The French books weighed down his sturdy backpack, cutting into his shoulders as he speed-walked the halls to where he thought Sean’s locker was. Finally he saw the unmistakable red hair of his new friend, and jostled his way upstream against the kids escaping school.

Sean looked up from his phone as Hank reached him. “Hey man! You survived!”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Hank shrugged.

“If you say so. Any new developments on Operation Frenchalicious?”

“C’mon, I told you we’re not calling it that. It sounds dirty even if you don’t know what it means.”

“Operation Smang It?”

“No!”

“Voulez-vou coucher avec moi?”

“Is that the only thing you know in French?”

“It still counts!”

Hank groaned. “Do we have to have a codename? You could just ask me if anything happened with Raven today.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sean winked.

Clearly Sean planned to come up with more and more ridiculous names until he gave up. “Fine. Operation Blackbird?” he tried out.

Rolling his eyes, Sean reached into his locker. “Challenge accepted—I’m going to make that a filthy euphemism by the time you can put it into practice.”

“ _You’re_ a filthy euphemism,” Hank muttered. Maybe he’d been too quick to pick a best friend.

“SO, any new developments on Operation Blackbird?”

Hank had actually forgotten where this started. “What? Oh! Yeah, actually, great news! I talked to the French teacher, Madame Giere, and asked if anyone needed a tutor. She said she had one student in her Intro class who needed help, and I could meet Raven tomorrow in the library after school.”

“Good work!” Sean congratulated him, stuffing books haphazardly into a ripped bag. “Now all you have to do is learn French.”

“I know, it’s going great.”

“Sure, a completely foolproof plan. Hey, you have a car, right, you didn’t miss the bus?” Sean asked.

He nodded. “It always has something wrong with it, so my dad and I have to work on it a lot. But it’s a car and it’s mine. How are you getting home?”

“Sadly, I do not have a car. There was an incident last fall with my mom’s minivan and a troop of Girl Scouts, who, in my opinion, picked a very questionable area to set up a table. Until I ‘become more responsible’, I have this.” And Sean indicated something stuck in the back of his locker, that he was yanking on without success.

“A… skateboard?”

“A longboard, if I can get the damn thing out,” Sean huffed, trying a position that somehow wedged his knee near his chin. Finally he seemed to give up delicacy, and just threw himself back while holding onto the longboard. With a crash that levelled the shelf in his locker, Sean freed the longboard and went flying.

Hank had just barely stepped out of the way, but another kid wasn’t so lucky. Sean smashed into a guy walking by and landed on top of him, the longboard smacking him on the head as he went down.

The other guy swore at the impact, and Sean’s elbow in his chest. He shoved Sean off him and picked himself up off the floor. “You fucking knob! Have you just liberated your head from your colon for the first time, or did you get an early start on 4:20?”

The English accent was crisp and unexpected. The guy was glaring at Sean like he had just kicked a puppy. Or, well, knocked the guy down and elbowed his sternum.

Sean stood up, his hands spread wide in front of him, frantically shaking his head as if he thought the British guy was going to drop kick him. “I’m sorry, I’m sosososo sorry, it was a total accident, I—”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” British Dude hissed.

Sean leaped back so fast that Hank half-expected to see a cartoon cloud of dust behind him. British Dude and his bored-looking girlfriend swept past them to the exit.

Hank raised his eyebrows at Sean, who was still breathing heavily. “You okay, man? It didn’t look like you hit anything too hard.”

“Ha! Man, I hit the _Witch of Westchester_. I’m lucky I still have my balls!” His voice broke on the word witch. Sean sounded actually terrified, which was bizarre. British Dude had been rude, but he wasn’t some meathead jock who lived to terrorize geeks. He was thin and a little on the short side, and he would have looked completely innocent with his blue eyes and wavy hair if it wasn’t for the way his face twisted up when he scowled. But Sean had said witch… did he mean the girl with British Dude?

“But you didn’t do anything to the girl.”

Sean stared at him. “Are you kidding? Did you seriously get through the whole day without anyone telling you about the Witch?”

“I guess?”

Sean shook his head. “This is the state of public education, man. There should be some sort of pamphlet, for your own safety! Okay, the Witch is not the girl, it’s the guy I knocked into, Charles. Everyone calls him the Witch, I don’t know how it started. But it is totally appropriate because he is like, _supernaturally evil_. Last year, a teacher quit because she said she was personally victimized by him. I heard he made her cry. Like, in class.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. By the way, that’s your future wife’s brother.”

“What?!”

No way. No way that could be true; it would be like a kitten and a rabid wolverine coming from the same parents. They didn’t even look that much alike, except for the blue eyes. But even those were different! Raven’s were a beautiful, calm, sun-dappled lake of light blue, and _his_ were the dark looming depths of the ocean that housed vampire squids and the kind of sharks that scared other sharks. Wait a minute…

“How is he British and Raven’s not?” That settled it, they couldn’t possibly be related, Sean must be messing with him.

“No one really knows the details. Some messy custody thing. Charles lived in England until he was 14, then he started school here. Raven grew up here though, which is why he has an accent and she doesn’t. They live with their dad, their mom isn’t around or doesn’t have custody,” Sean hefted his bag and grabbed the longboard off the floor. “Whatever the story is, get ready for some awkward family dinners at the Xavier house,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

Oh god. Maybe, after he learned French and taught it to Raven, they could run away to join the French Foreign Legion. They could change their names and become super spies, and never have to see her terrifying family.

Now he _really_ needed to go home and learn French. Their future depended on it.

 

  
  
* * * * * * * * * *

 

 

Charles was deeply immersed in _Cat’s Eye_ when his father came home from work. For the last four years, Brian Xavier has cut down his practice from a thriving, eighty-hour work week, to as close to a nine-five gig as any surgeon can manage. However much he may claim to enjoy the lessened workload, Charles suspected he’ll be right back in the thick of it when Raven leaves for university.

“It’s a beautiful day today, Charles,” his father mused as he crossed the living room, scrolling through his phone. “Made anyone cry?”

He looked up from his book to smile. “Not a single one. A shame, isn’t it?”

His father returned his smile just before Raven flounced into the room.

“Hi, Daddy!” Raven chirped, pecking his cheek.

“Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?” his father asked, looking back to his phone.

Charles set his book down. “Yes Raven, where _have_ you been all afternoon?”

Raven glared back. “Nowhere.”

Distracted from his phone, his father frowned at Raven. “You aren’t just now getting home, are you?”

“Why don’t you ask her who drove her home?” Charles muttered.

“Don’t start—hold on, drove, who’s driving you where?”

The scowl Raven leveled him with would make a lot of people nervous, but Charles hasn’t been affected by it since she started batting her eyelashes at the football team. Not even proper football, which would have been something, but American football. Apparently the school board didn’t think it needed a school “soccer” team. How Raven can be ensnared by their behemoth classmates when they’re not even playing proper sport is beyond him. All the endorsement you could ever want is the existence of Aaron Ramsey, who may be even more gorgeous than Beckham. If there is any evidence that God is real, it’s the sheer number of shaggable footie players. Charles loves the sport for itself, but he would think his shallow sister of all people could appreciate the eye candy.

Drawing in a deep breath, Raven turned to their father with her sweetest, most innocent kitten face. “Daddy, now, I don’t want you to get mad, but there’s this boy and I think he really likes—”

Brian Xavier groaned. “Stop right there. I’m going to tell you what I always tell you—no boys.”

“But Daddy—!”

“What are the two house rules?” his father paused to wait for an answer Raven is too stubborn to repeat. “One: no dating until you graduate. Two: ... no dating until you graduate! See, that’s only one rule, how hard is that to remember?”

Raven stomped her foot. “That’s completely unfair! Everyone at school is dating, everyone! Don’t you care that I’m the only one left out?”

“You’re not the only one; your brother isn’t dating,” his father interjected. “And why is that again?”

Charles rolled his eyes at his father’s obvious ploy, but played into it anyway. “Pardon me for excluding loud-mouthed fuck boys from my dance card.”

“You see?” Brian said gleefully.

“Have you time-traveled here from a medieval nunnery?” Raven snapped at Charles.

“Unlike the 1950’s sock hop you arrived from?” he retorted.

His father waved his hands between them. “Okay, okay, enough of that.” Brian stopped abruptly, considering. “You know what? The old rule is over. New rule: Raven can date.”

Raven squealed with joy while Charles sat stunned. Had his father lost his mind, or had he taken a few hits of oxygen after his last surgery?

Smirking, Brian continued. “When he does,” he nodded to Charles and moved toward the door.

It took a moment for that to sink in for Raven, and when it did, she rushed in front of their father to stop him leaving the room.

“But he’s a _mutant_!” Raven spluttered. “What if he _never_ dates?”

“Then _you’ll_ never—oh, that sounds very promising,” Brian said with satisfaction. “And I will enjoy the untroubled slumber of a father whose children aren’t being infected with herpes.”

“Daddy!” Raven screeched.

“Oh, I think I heard Mary calling, excuse me,” his father made his escape quickly to the kitchen.

Raven crossed her arms tightly beneath her bubblegum pink sweater, clearly determined to pout. Probably a good time for him to escape as well, though his bedroom on the second floor was a better hiding spot than the kitchen.

He sidled past her and made it halfway up the grand staircase before he heard her patent leather flats slapping across the foyer tile to catch him.

“Wait!” Raven shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “Couldn’t you find anyone to tolerate you for a night? Aren’t there hearing-impaired kids at our school?”

It was amazing how Raven managed to push all the rights buttons and still be so blissfully ignorant of it. He took a second to breathe and dial back his response from Regina George levels of viciousness.

“So sorry, Raven, but I guess you’ll be missing out on the dubious charms of Sebastian Shaw for the near future.”

“You suck,” she sneered and stormed off.

“Good one, Dorothy Parker know about you?” he shouted after her.

A door slammed somewhere in response.

Charles continued up the stairs and down the hall to his room. Even though Raven was irritated with him almost all the time, he didn’t want her to be unhappy, or permanently pouting. He wished she wouldn’t put so much stock in dating and getting a boyfriend. Really, there were much worthier things to be disappointed by.

But Raven had never been in the habit of taking advice from him, and she certainly wouldn’t start now after her induction into the Cool Kids, like she was living in a John Hughes movie.

All that aside, he could be a supportive big brother and get behind his little sister trying to date. Well, he could try. He could help her pick out clothes or makeup and limit himself to saying only one thing that would make her roll her eyes and despair of their shared genetics. What he won’t support, under any circumstances, is Raven dating Sebastian Shaw. He’d sooner strip naked in front of his English class than see that slimy bastard park his overcompensation-mobile in front of his house to pick up Raven for a date.

He shuddered at the very thought.

No, as much as Raven may hate him now, it was infinitely better than watching her get chewed up and spit out by Shaw.

Charles sat down at his desk and powered up his desktop computer. He wanted to check if he’d gotten the acceptance letter he was waiting for. His applications to Columbia, Harvard, and Brown had been accepted months ago. Any of those would make his father happy, especially Columbia. However, his biggest hope was pinned on Oxford. He’s wanted to go there, desperately, ever since his grandparents took him there to visit at age eleven. His father will throw a fit, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

Brian Xavier can get the fuck on board. Oxford is full of beautiful British boys who don’t think liking cock is a mortal sin. He can’t wait to get there. University is supposed to be better, supposed to be where marginalized people find that they don’t stick out like a cat at a dog show. Right?

God he hopes so. He can’t imagine Oxford will be more of the same bullshit at his crap Westchester high school.

There are no answers for him today, no acceptance verifications in his email. It’s beginning to worry him a bit. March is almost through, and usually universities send out their answers much earlier.

It could be that he’s worrying for nothing. There are still nearly two months until graduation. But tomorrow, he planned to call the admission office to make sure nothing’s wrong with the information they have for him.

Oh well. Tomorrow’s a new day, full of Raven pouting, Sebastian leering, and unidentified lumps in the chicken nuggets. Carpe diem.

 

 

* * * * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just created a tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/abednadir101), if you want to come and hang out! Anyone who wants to talk about fic, X-Men, other nerd things, Aaron Ramsey, or send me pictures of cute animals napping, is welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour et je suis désolé!  
> For everyone returning after such a long delay, I am sorry and I thank you and you are a beautiful tropical fish. Another saga in this author is a helpless meddler who meddles and cannot post a chapter without rewriting it and adding a thousand words. Like the previous chapter, I had half of it written several weeks ago, but I wasn't satisfied and went back to it several times. I hope Sean's shenanigans make up for it!

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Raven purred, glancing up beneath her long lashes. “J’aime tes lunettes.” She leaned across the library table, her whole upper body bent forward to reach him. Hank was a gentleman, but how could he not look at the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts from where her shirt draped open? Suddenly his mouth was very dry and he swallowed. Raven giggled, plucking the glasses off his nose, and retreating quickly before he could take them back. She put them on with the timidity of someone who’s never had to wear them, and blinked rapidly. Her nose scrunched up as she peered through Hank’s glasses like an adorable blond owl.

“How do I look?” she asked, twirling a strand of her hair.

“Très belle,” he replied and she laughed.

“Merci, cher.” Raven winked at him.

Hank coughed. “So, on page 24, there’s a verb conjugation for the new—”

“Oh, let me see that.” Raven hopped up and walked around to his side, ignoring the textbook in front of her. Then she settled herself on his lap and he immediately forgot what it meant to think.

“So… conjugation…” her voice was a throaty murmur at his ear. He felt her breasts just barely touch his shoulder as she dropped closer, her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered, “j'adore ça.”

Okay, the tutoring could definitely wait. He turned his head and—

 

“Hank! _Hank_ , earth to Hank!” Sean shouted, snapping his fingers.

Hank startled, landing back on planet Earth as he took in Sean glaring at him in front of his locker. Damn. Couldn’t Sean have waited just one more minute to notice he was babbling away to no one? He really wished the tutoring session had gone the way of that daydream, instead of Hank awkwardly stammering about practicing greetings, and the conducive environment of a French restaurant, before Raven realized he was asking her out and cooed over the sweetness.

“Sorry, zoned out for a second. C’mon though, Raven said her dad changed the rules! One tiny thing to get out of the way, and it’s date time!”

“Okay, yes, this is a step in the right direction, but Hank, how do you not understand that this is a suicide mission? Remember when I said Raven was the second-least datable person in school? The first person is _Charles_ , you idiot! Have you not seen him?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, he’s—”

“—a heinous bitch. Dude, the teachers say that about him.”

“But some guys are into that, right? Like, attitude? And guys like a challenge.”

“A challenge, sure, but this is dropping a guy in the ocean without a cage and hoping the sharks aren’t hungry.”

Hank reached out and grabbed Sean’s shoulder. “Come on, man. We’re so close! If we can get someone to date Charles, I can go out with Raven! There has to be a way.”

Sean sighed. “Just watch this.” He looked around the hallway, eyes darting over the faces hurrying past. Then he focused suddenly, straightening up and walking down to a cluster of scary-looking kids in the same leather jacket. Holy crap, was that a gang? Sean sidled up next to a scowling blond kid and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh god,” Hank muttered to himself.

“Heyyy Summers! Good to see you! How was—er, your...vacation? Which definitely wasn’t juvie, HA HA!” Sean forced a laugh while Summers looked more murderous by the second.

“Anyhoo! So, you swing both ways, right?”

Summers’s arm shot forward and pinned Sean to the lockers by his neck faster than Hank could open his mouth to scream like a tiny baby.

Sean squirmed, putting his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no judgment man, it’s a new era!” he wheezed. “Just wondering, would you date Charles Xavier?”

Summers didn’t move for a second. Then just as quickly as he grabbed him, he dropped Sean and laughed. But it was more of a bark of mockery than a real laugh.

“Are you serious?” Summers growled. “The only way I’d even try and hit that is if someone gave me a grand. _And_ I was wasted.”

“You hang with Lehnsherr, bro,” Sean croaked as he massaged his throat. “Charles can’t seem that much worse.”

“Yes, he is. Lehnsherr could kick my ass, but Charles Xavier would rip my balls off and play soccer with them if I tried anything,” Summers said.

“Fair enough. Later!”

Sean scrambled away as the maybe-gang stared after him and started talking about what just happened, Summers grumbling and casting a wary look in their direction.

Sean stopped in front of Hank and spread his arms wide. “You see?”

“Yes, it’s so obvious now!” Hank smiled.

His jaw dropped as he looked at Hank. “I’m worried you don’t understand the point of that. When’s the last time you updated the prescription on those glasses?”

“No, I got that actually, subtle as it was. But Summers said he’d do it for money. We could pay someone to date him!” Hank beamed at Sean for one second, then it hit him. “Oh. We don’t have any money.”

“And no way could we come up with a thousand dollars. Though, if we’re really doing this, I bet it wouldn’t actually be a grand.” Sean considered for a minute, then his expression cleared. “What we need is a backer.”

“A backer?”

“Someone stupid, with money.” Sean smirked. “I know someone just stupid enough.”

“Who?”

“Sebastian Shaw. You know, that pretty-boy tool I pointed out? According to the latest gossip, he is also captivated by the bodacious Raven. We let him think this is his idea, he pays someone to date Charles, and you end up with your lady love. This is a great plan!” crowed Sean.

“Just please never say ‘lady love’ again.”

It was a good plan. Hank certainly didn’t have money to pay someone to date Raven’s horrible brother. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Sebastian Shaw, that sleazy jerk, trying to date Raven. No way Raven would go for him, though, Hank reminded himself. She was way too sweet and smart to be taken in by the oily smooth-talking of that douchebag. Yes, Hank decided with relief, this could work.

“Okay, I’m in,” he agreed. “But we still don’t know who would date Charles.”

Sean frowned. “Hmm.”

They both stood there in silence as they racked their brains.

A guy striding down the hall distracted Hank when he came to the gang and shoved through them to open a locker. The maybe-gang scattered back and reformed the circle around him. Hank realized they must have been waiting for this guy at his locker. Was he the leader? The guy pulled on his own leather jacket hanging in the locker, and took a cigarette out of the pocket. Then he _lit the cigarette in the hallway_. Hank felt his jaw drop as he watched.

Summers hesitantly tried to take the cigarette from him, gesturing around them. The leader guy just looked at him, not yelling or anything, until Summers backed off.

“Sean,” Hank hissed, elbowing his friend discreetly. “What about that guy?”

Sean looked over to where Hank was pointing and immediately batted Hank’s hand away, eyes wide in fear. “No, don’t look at him. And, no way, man.”

“What, why not? That’s the guy Summers was talking about, the one who scares him?”

“That’s Erik Lehnsherr,” Sean whispered, “don’t stare! I heard he blinded a kid with a laser pointer for staring at him during class.”

“We know he’s not afraid of a challenge then.”

“You don’t get it, man. No one fucks with Lehnsherr. He just did a year in Rikers. Alex Summers is literally kiddie league compared to him. He welded someone to a steel beam in metal shop!”

“So there’s no way he’d be afraid of Charles.”

Sean shook his head, frantic now. “Not him, man.”

Hank grinned. “He’s our guy.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

He _was_ their guy. It _was_ a good plan. Hank had to keep reminding himself of that the next day because it had started to seem like a tremendously bad idea overnight.

_Où se trouvent les toilettes? Combien coûte-t-il? Je m’appelle Tomas. Comment vous appelez-vous? Ça va?_

The French book was balanced carefully on his knee under the conveniently large lab table. He kept his lab goggles on to look like he might still be working on the assignment. It was rare that he blew off work in class, but he had learned over the years that an expression of concentration and rapid scribbling usually kept teachers from looking closer. Hank had completed the procedure a half hour ago. With almost two hours left in the period, he decided not to waste it and went over what he’d come up with for a lesson plan. Mdm. Giere hadn’t exaggerated about how far behind Raven was, because she had yet to catch on that Hank knew barely enough French to ask for directions.

Hank may be willing to admit to a failure of hubris. Sure, he’s a genius. Certified and subject to increasingly-desperate Ivy League recruitment genius. But that’s in _science_. Chemistry is a breeze compared to this. Granted, a lot of learning another language seems to be memorizing new words, which is easy enough. The harder part is re-learning the rules to form sentences or shape his thoughts. If he had a week, he’d feel a lot more confident. He memorized the vocabulary of the first five chapters the night before. He just needs this to work long enough for Raven to get to know him, or at least until her spiteful brother has a boyfriend and they won’t need the excuse of studying to go on dates.

“ _S’il vous plaît_ ,” Hank muttered into the language app on his phone. The wheel spun for a few seconds and asked him to repeat the phrase. He looked around to make sure everyone was still distracted and tried again. This time, the little green owl popped up and gave him a disappointed expression and informed him he’d failed the question.

Hank sighed. He passed every other question easily, except when he had to speak something. And he wasn’t stupid; he could hear how terrible his pronunciation was. Thankfully, Raven’s was worse and she hadn’t noticed that he sounded more like Steve Martin’s Clueso than Jean Dujardin.

A new text message jumped up and he exited the app. He wasn’t going to get any better in the next five minutes.

 _tlked 2 backer, op blackbird is on! CAW CAW_ and a strange, lopsided bird emoji.

Another one came seconds later.

_wuts my codename? hb 006 cuz im cooler thn bond_

Hank rolled his eyes.

**How about 999 because you’re that much less stealthy?**

_tht stings dude. codename thunder!_ with a lightning bolt emoji.

**You are really loud.**

Emoji of a bolt _\+ u. ur gonna b douchetron 3000_.

**A very discreet codename. Do we need codenames for each other?**

_ys obvsly! this is ultra-top secret classified mission. ears r all around, dude_

_u can b the wizard._

He grinned. That wasn’t too bad. And Sean would come up with something much worse given a chance.

**Ok that’s fine with me. Thought you’d pick something like Mad Scientist or Dr. Evil.**

_2 obvi, evry1 wld kno its u. so i can b the thunder?_

**What about Sonic? You know, like a shattering boom of sound?**

_or the dope af hedgehog! priorities dude_

**Ok. Wait, what did you say to the backer?**

_just acted like i wanted 2 trade the idea 4 a status upgrade. he ttly bought it, + hes going 2 $ the guy. C has gay club meeting after school, sd L should catch C b4 that._

That was probably good; it wasn’t like any of them had Charles’s number or knew what he did outside school, so Lehnsherr would have to ask him out here. He wondered if the guy would be smoking inside the school again when he talked to Charles. Crap, what if he did?

**I’m going to go watch, make sure Charles says yes.**

_do it. ive got band practice._

Hank frowned at his phone. This had been his idea, but his doubts were growing. There were just too many variables in play to predict a favorable outcome with any modicum of certainty. Charles was ‘super-bitchy’, as Sean put it, would he go for Lehnsherr? Hank wasn’t gay or curious, so his opinion is probably not an accurate measure of the desirability of either man. Was Lehnsherr attractive enough? Maybe Charles had some weird, ultra-specific type, and Lehnsherr wasn’t it. Hank thought the guy looked fine: tall, neat haircut, clean-shaven, and predisposed to clothing that fit instead of hanging off his ass and exposing most of his underwear. Gay guys were into proper fashion, right?

Lehnsherr’s terrifying personality had convinced Hank that he was scary enough to handle whatever Charles threw at him, but it was possible that Charles wouldn’t be attracted to it. Maybe it was just too much evil for one relationship.

After receiving a confirmation from Sean about the location of the GSA meeting, Hank put his phone back in his pocket and resisted the urge to groan. This was terrible. He wasn’t a matchmaker or a fan of reality dating shows. He had no idea what he was doing. He’s a _scientist_ , he needs to work with data, fact and logic and sound hypotheses. People are… messy and strange.

The bell rang before he could work himself into a mild panic attack and he hastily shoved everything into his bag in a heap before the chem teacher noticed he’d been learning French under the table.

Politely nudging people aside, Hank started power-walking the second he cleared the door, dodging the masses as best he could. Assuming the meeting started right after class, he only had two minutes to get there—the same time frame Lehnsherr had to secure a date. In his possibly gang insignia-ed leather jacket, smoking a cigarette.

Hank started jogging. Maybe now would be a good time to start believing in prayer and send God a shout-out.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

In a strange twist of fate, today has been a good day. A great day, actually. He wasn’t kicked out of class even once, there was an edible salad bar in the cafeteria, and Mr. Muñoz gave him full marks on his last paper. Well, after he argued him down about the social ramifications of the glorification of hyper masculinity. Muñoz was alright, at the end of the day. If Charles had the chance to talk with him, minus the peanut gallery, Mr. Muñoz usually agreed with the points he made. Except that one time he’d played devil’s advocate about Shakespeare, Mr. Muñoz had been pissed. He wouldn’t hear a word against the Bard.

He was running late to the GSA meeting. Convincing Muñoz took way longer than he planned. A few stragglers here and there, but otherwise the halls were completely deserted. He typed out a response to Moira as he walked, making plans for Friday. They were driving into the city to see Scissor Sisters at one of their favorite dive bars. Moira, a complete groupie, heard about it from the fan club she was a part of. An exclusive show for a select group of their fans, breaking the hiatus for one night only. Moira loved them, but it wouldn’t be his first choice. It would be an entertaining show, and an excellent opportunity to pull some gorgeous undergrad in the loo. As much as he couldn’t wait to move to England, he would miss some of the perks of living so near New York City. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be one of those poor kids who grow up in the middle of nowhere like Montana or Kansas, without access to civilization—i.e., proper bands and restaurants. Hell, probably, to live so far from a major city you couldn’t see a decent show.

Charles rounded the corner and stopped short at the unexpected idlers just outside Munroe’s door. One was some nervous-looking transfer, huddled over a textbook with glasses sliding down his nose, probably praying no one noticed him until his ride showed up.

The other was Erik Lehnsherr.

Previous to this precise moment, Charles would have gambled the entirety of his inheritance that Lehnsherr had never once found himself on school grounds for a second after it was legally required of him. Did the guy lose street cred for hanging around school after hours? Perhaps he’d kick a puppy later to make up for it. He checked that his phone was on silent and stowed it in his bag as he crossed the hall.

Lehnsherr moved, unexpectedly cutting in front of him. Charles halted, frowning at him, and started to step around him. Lehnsherr mirrored him, blocking his path again with a sharp grin. “Hey there. How goes it?”

He eyed Lehnsherr carefully, trying to interpret his body language. Wary as he was of warning signs, it didn’t seem like the beginning to some good old-fashioned gay bashing fun. The bloke was completely alone and without an audience. If Lehnsherr felt the need to reaffirm his masculinity by tormenting the local queen, he would do so in front of his friends or an eager crowd. That left little explanation for his appearance. Charles decided to be cautious, just in case, and hope Lehnsherr believed the same extrapolated tales of his shrewish wrath that everyone else did.

“I’m running late, and spoiling for a fight actually,” Charles bared his teeth in a forced smile, “so why don’t you step aside?” He tried again to move around Lehnsherr.

Lehnsherr barked out a laugh as he neatly countered Charles’s dodge. “You sure know what to say to catch a man’s interest.”

Charles froze, gawping, as his brain worked to catch up in uncharacteristic lethargy. Was that a come-on? There were of course other queer people at the school, all of them more closeted or low profile than himself. Erik Lehnsherr was not one of them.  In _any_ way.

“Oh good, I’ve become an object of sexual desire to a man, I can now die happy having fulfilled my purpose in life,” he shot back.

But Lehnsherr chuckled and leaned close. “Excellent. So, Saturday work for you?”

He rolled his eyes and attempted a side-step. “Oh Saturday, yes, brill.”

Again, the bloke stepped in his way and edged closer than he was before, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Saturday, the night I set your world spinning in a new direction.”

Charles snorted, his brain returned to rapid repartee speed. “Like where, past the Jamba Juice on 4th St.? Do you even know my name, fuck boy?”

Lehnsherr took a step back, finally, and gave Charles a slow head to toe appraisal with a growing leer. “I know everything I need to know, sweetheart.”

He felt sickening nausea, swift and unsteady. Un-fucking-believable. When he was outed freshman year, he fully expected the homophobia and the social rejection and the bullying. It stung a little more than he was proud of, but it never shocked him. But now this? Lehnsherr probably didn’t even think himself gay, just saw Charles as an easy target. He was openly gay, so he was an easy piece of ass? The fucking twat.

“Suck a cock, Lehnsherr. Because I’d rather die than get near yours.”

Charles shoved him, hard, which was easy to do with the prat’s dumbfounded surprise, and finally got past him to the door.

He slammed it shut behind him before Lehnsherr could recover and follow him. Charles leaned back against it and closed his eyes, ignoring the whole group staring at him, and practiced deep calm breaths. He needed a minute before he could speak civilly. Or a few rounds with a punching bag. Goddamn arsehole.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Outside, Lehnsherr stared at the closed door for a few seconds before he shook it off and strode to the exit with the grim expression of a man not to be fucked with.

 _Wow_ , Hank thought, _that went well_.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “...hello?”  
> the author says nervously, emerging from beneath the rock that was used for cover for the past ——- months, as the author was deeply afraid that the readers would rip the author’s body apart with their sharp angry teeth.  
> Heeeeey everyone… sorry I suck? I don’t know a more elegant way to say that, or to convey how badly I feel about abandoning this fic for so long. Cringe-worthy? Literally, I’m just sitting here, typing this out, cringing. If that makes anyone feel better. Or, conversely, if you don’t care at all about the time gap, welcome back!!! I’m super glad you exist, you mythical unicorn you!!  
> Anyway. Sorry :’( I hope the length of this chapter (twice as long as the others) will both soothe your furious ravenous teeth and possibly clue you in to how much I struggled with chapter five. I don’t know why this was the hardest one to write so far. But it was. And here it is. 
> 
> P.S. Oh, I forgot, one thing that’s actually important. So, one of the characters says some extra lame things about gay folks and also, separately, people who have a lot of sex. I feel like I’ve tagged for characters saying shitty things, but I just wanted to warn everyone again in case that’s going to be upsetting.

Hank is smart. He’s really smart. Has he mentioned this before? The thing about being really smart is that you know when you’re in over your head.

And he was in way over his head.

He thought, maybe, he could have come up with a cute, romantic way for Erik to ask Charles out on a date. But now that Erik’s made a huge mess of it, he doesn’t know what to do. Charles clearly hated Erik and it was going to take a lot to come back from that.

Sean would be useless; Hank didn’t need to ask his new friend to know that.

What he needed was an inside man, a double agent—someone who knew Charles and any weaknesses in his über-bitch exterior. The Witch only seemed to have one friend, and he doubted that intimidating woman would go behind Charles’s back. Which left one person.

Hank realized all this in about five minutes after Lehnsherr stormed off, but he’s been wracking his brain to come up with any other option. He sighed and for one minute considered watching _The Bachelor_ to come up with another plan. Shuddering with horror, he gave in and dialed Raven’s number.

“...Hello?” she answered after a few rings.

“Hi, Raven!” He waited for a brief yet agonizing minute of silence. “Um, it’s Hank?”

“Hank?” Raven sounded confused.

“Yeah! … from French tutoring?” he prompted.

“Oh, right. So what’s going on? Is there like, new homework for my class or something?” 

“Uh no, it’s actually about the other thing. With your brother? I think we’re going to need your help.”

“How am I supposed to help?”

“Well Charles isn’t exactly going for our guy and we don’t know what to do. We don’t know anything about what he likes in a guy.

“Someone who also enjoys ritual sacrifices to Satan?”

Hank burst out laughing. Raven was so funny, and she was beautiful and wonderful and—

“Seriously, I have no idea what his type is, I can’t help with this.”

“Raven, we need something to go on. If we can’t figure this out, Charles will never go out with this guy. C’mon, please?”

He could hear Raven sigh and then a long pause. He clutched his phone tight to his ear.

Finally, she answered. “Okay fine. You’d better come over to my house, Charles won’t be home for a while.”

Raven hung up and texted him the address, and Hank had to restrain himself from breaking the speed limit about twenty times. Sure, it was a fact-finding mission, but Raven just invited him over to her house. He was going to her house where she lived! Excited was an understatement.

As he drew closer and closer, the minutes to estimated arrival ticking away on Google Maps, his excitement died down. Judging from the way she dressed and the crowd she hung out with, Hank guessed she wasn’t exactly working after school to buy her designer labels. But this was something else.

The houses grew larger and further apart, and finally he could hardly see them at all from the main road, tucked away behind enormous trees.

“In five hundred feet, turn left,” the calm voice of Siri informed him.

Hank looked around in a panic at the empty road stretching straight in front of him with no cross streets. Was he completely lost? But he crawled forward, and just when he was about to give up and turn around, he saw a small gravel path with a mailbox carved from stone and a discreet sign that read “private drive”. Wow. So, Raven’s house had its own road. That wasn’t intimidating at all. He turned left, and started up the gravel driveway. Raven’s house was perched at the top of a small hill among the trees.

House was the wrong word. Mansion might be more accurate. It was at least four stories, and he thought it may actually be the kind of building that had wings. Like, “no, your Lordship, I put the Earl of Grey in the east wing of course!” and then the servant went back to polishing the silver or whatever.

For an army brat, this was a lot to take in. Hank was used to packing up all his belongings in four boxes and living in empty barracks for a week or two if they hadn’t found a house before moving.

He was so distracted by ogling the mansion that he nearly crashed into the wrought-iron gate that came out of nowhere. He stomped on the brake, swearing. Did he need to get out and open it, or—oh, there was a speaker. He rolled down his window and pressed the only button on the machine.

Nothing happened. Hank was definitely too afraid to press that button again—what if too many button presses called the police?

Then a rumble of static interrupted the silence and a woman’s voice asked, “Hello, can I help you?”

“I’m, uh, I’m here to see… Raven Xavier lives here, right?”

“Name?”

“Raven Xavier,” Hank said louder.

“YOUR name.” The word ‘idiot’ went unsaid.

Hank coughed. “Oh. I’m Hank? Hank M—”

There was a loud buzzing and the gate started a slow swing backwards before he finished speaking.

Okay. Cool. Raven literally had a gatekeeper between her and the world. He wasn’t intimidated. Definitely not. Even though it would be completely reasonable if he was. But, you know, he wasn’t.

He drove forward slowly, reaching a flat paved area at the top of the gravel lane. He didn’t see a garage. Should he park here, or like, around back? Was there designated poor people parking?

As he sat there, idling and wasting gas, Raven walked out from the massive double doors of the front entrance. She strolled right up the driver’s side and he fumbled for the button to roll down the window.

“You can just park here. Charles isn’t home and Daddy has a surgery until super late.”

“Right, right, okay!” Hank grinned.

Raven stood there, staring at him, then raised her eyebrows.

Oh, he should probably turn off the car and get out. Hastily slamming the gear shift into park, he shut off the engine and climbed out.

Raven turned back to the house without another word, and Hank followed. She walked too quickly for him to move ahead of her or he would’ve opened the doors for her. But she pulled massive wood door open and kept moving. Hank pulled it close behind them and turned to catch up when he finally saw the entrance of the house.

No, foyer. Foyer was the word.

Holy fuck.

This was like… like when you watch the History Channel and they tour palaces. This place was just shy of having gold leaf on the ceiling. Damn, how much money did these people have?

There was a sweeping stone staircase ahead that split into two directions on the second level. The floors were a gleaming marble that Hank was afraid to dirty with his scuffed high tops. He could see the entrances to several other rooms: antique-looking yet pristine furniture arranged on enormous patterned rugs that were probably worth more than his car. Okay, they were definitely worth more than his car.

“Are you coming?”

Raven’s voice echoed in the cavernous entrance, and Hank jerked his head around to see her standing on the staircase landing.

“Yeah! Oh—yeah, sorry,” he rushed forward, nearly tripping up the stairs. Once he reached the landing, Raven moved to the staircase on the right. Hank moved to follow her, and that’s when he saw the portraits. Actual, ornate gold-framed door-sized oil paintings.

Okay. He was just going to stop looking around now before he found evidence that this girl was like a long-lost princess or something, Jesus.

“Like I said, I have no idea what his type is. It’s like he doesn’t even want to date or something. I mean, he’s a mutant, maybe he’s evolved past having, like, feelings.”

Oh. Wow, that was kinda harsh…

“But if you insist, we can look around in his room and try to find something. Who knows, maybe he keeps a diary next to his spellbook.”

Raven opened a door on the left nearly at the end of the hall.

Hank mentally braced himself for the lair of the Witch of Westchester. Dun dun dun.

...and was not at all prepared for what he saw.

Posters, floor to ceiling, were the first thing he noticed. Music, movies, books, event notices, prints, rallies, modern pop art. The original paint or wallpaper wasn’t even visible underneath them all. A sedate poster for _Vertigo_ rested between a garishly-pink _Mean Girls_ and a square album cover for a band he’d never heard of that was explicit enough to make him blush. It seemed Charles liked… everything. Like, really everything. _Evil Dead_ , Miles Davis, an Obama “Hope” poster, the original Star Wars trilogy next to a picture of Leonard Nimoy (which Hank felt was a bit sacrilegious), a Planned Parenthood poster, a movie still with German subtitles, and a stylized portrait of Stevie Nicks after that. How these genres intersected in Charles’s mind was baffling. Scientists, musicians, artists, writers, philanthropists, activists. He saw familiar faces everywhere.

Hank tried to shake off his surprise and take a more scientific inventory of the information overload. Because shocking as it was, this peek into the inner psyche of the Witch was a detailed jackpot. He just needed to write down everything laid out like the most obvious checklist in dating history.

Oh god, there was a picture of Alan. Motherfucking. Turing, and his machine. Small, but in a clean silver frame mounted over the desk in the corner. The inner geek in Hank was freaking out, and he immediately wished he could chat with Charles about it.

He scanned the room with more purpose, and saw more of his heroes on the wall. How did Charles even know about some of these people?

Hank shifted to take his phone out and start a list, and saw Raven staring at him with a weird look on her face.

“Oh sorry, just thought I should write down some of this stuff.”

“Yeah, if you can make sense of the freak show,” Raven said. The tone of her voice and the way her lip curled made it clear what she thought of the decor.

Hank cleared his throat. “I know personality-wise, he leaves a lot to be desired. But, um, you don’t like any of these bands or movies or anything?”

Now Raven was looking at him like he was one of those posters. “Are you for real? Half of this crap is weird dead people and, like, ancient movies,” she gestured to the Maya Angelou book cover, “and the rest is freaky shit I’ve never even heard of. What the hell is Metropolis supposed to be anyway? That’s not even a word. It’s like he’s completely incapable of listening to music that anyone else likes. I bet he doesn’t know who Selena Gomez is,” Raven finished with an eye roll.

Hank nodded along and threw in a vague noise of agreement before he went back to typing notes in his phone. He took a few steps further into the room to read the band names or book titles he didn’t recognize from the cover alone.

She was totally just making of her brother’s hipsterness, refusing to like anything that was popular. The whole Selena Gomez thing was just an example of how he considered himself “above” top 40 music or anymore popular. Right? Right, of course.

… because there was no way Selena Gomez was anyone’s standard for great music. No way.

No, of course not, she was just making a point about hipster nonsense, like refusing to listen to bands or artists after they got too popular. Mumford & Sons, anyone?

The alternative was too horrifying to consider.

Raven was walking around as well, though taking far more liberties than Hank did, moving things aside on shelves and toeing clutter out of her way on the floor. Hank was still clinging to plausible deniability, staying within a few feet of the door. Raven paused over Charles’s desk, and started shifting through the papers.

She looked back at Hank and gave him a cheerful smile as she knocked her hand into the wireless mouse. “Oops!” she said. “Oh no, looks like I woke up the computer.” She leaned over the back of a chair in front of it.

Hank, with the willpower of the gods, did _not_ stare at her ass when she bent forward. Much. Okay, a two-second glance.

“Ha!” Raven shouted. “Jackpot!”

“What?”

She beckoned him forward without taking her eyes off the computer screen. Hank stepped up next to her, hesitated, then shifted closer another step or two. Raven didn’t say say so he probably wasn’t encroaching on her space.

“What are we looking at?” he asked and leaned in to see the screen, inhaling silently as he brushed past her hair. Mmm, her hair smelled like strawberries.

“See this note here? It’s a reminder linked from the calendar on his phone, about a concert on Friday night in the city.”

“Uh, cool. Good band?”

Raven sighed and straightened back up. “The whole reason you came over here was to try and figure out what Charles would be into so that guy can win him over, yes? Because Charles didn’t go for him? This is a perfect opportunity. That guy can pretend to run into Charles at the concert, what a coincidence! Proving that they have something Charles loves in common and it was totally fate they ran into each other—way more romantic than the guy tracking him down at school.”

Considering that up to this point Raven had wanted nothing to do with their plan, she was surprisingly brilliant at this particular brand of subterfuge.

“That is inspired,” Hank answered.

Raven smirked. “I know.” She suddenly got a thoughtful look on her face. “Hold on a minute… I wonder.” Her voice sort of trailed off as she looked around the room again with a more focused expression, and her eyes lit up when they landed on a small bookcase shoved into a corner behind a much larger shelf.

“When Charles and I were kids, he used to hide candy from me behind his books. I wonder if he still thinks it’s a good hiding spot,” she explained as she crossed the room. She started rifling through the books, pulling them free of the shelf and examining the space behind them. Nothing. Raven frowned, working her way down to the larger books and thick hardcovers. They looked more like textbooks than novels or fun reading. Still nothing. Then she yanked on a worn, huge copy of _Gray’s Anatomy._ There was nothing behind the book, but something fell out of it when she jiggled it free. Raven tilted the book flat and thumbed through its pages.

A whole chunk in the middle had been cut out to make a space to hide something. Raven made a face when she got a closer look.

“Oh, ew!”

Hank stepped closer, trying to see. “What?”

“Ugh!” Raven picked up the small shiny square from the floor, put it back in the book, and slammed it shut.

Oh, were those condoms? What else comes in square foil wrappers?

“Were those condoms?” he asked.

“Ew, yes,” Raven shuddered. “And also like tiny packets of…” she blushed and scrunched up her nose, “um, lubricate. I think. Why do they make them in tiny little packets? Like, what’s that good for? I thought it came in bottles.”

Oh god. Oh holy god, if there is actually any god in the universe, _please_ don’t make him explain to her what those are for.

“You know, they kind of remind me of those like tiny single-serve hand wipes you can get in drive-thru places… oh my god! Oh my god, eww that’s so gross, ugh!!” Raven’s ah-ha moment was clearly followed by deep revulsion. “Oh my god, are those, like, travel-sized things of lube?? Oh my god that’s disgusting! Uck!”

Hank frowned. Okay… that was just a tad messed up, maybe. “Well… isn’t it better to be like, safe and everything? Like, safe sex is important and all.”

“Oh please. Yes, he should have condoms if he’s having sex, but single-serve packets of lube? He would only need that if he was like, going out and screwing a bunch of strangers in  one-night stands. God, what a slut.”

Wow. That was kinda not okay. He knew she didn’t like her brother, and she had good reason. From what he’d seen and heard of Charles, the guy was an asshole. But was there more to it than that?

“Does it bother you that he’s gay?”

“No!” Raven said immediately, pivoting to glower at him. “No, of course not, I don’t care about that, I’m not like homophobic or whatever. It’s, like, totally fine. Charles is just such a freak. I mean, you’ve heard, haven’t you? Everyone hates him, and he deserves it. He just has to be difficult and try to stand out from everyone else.  And. I don’t know, I don’t care that he’s having sex with boys instead of girls, but don’t you think that’s gross that he’s having sex with people he just met? Like a lot of them? Sex is supposed to be… special,” Raven shrugged, looking at the floor. “It’s supposed to be with someone who loves you, right?”

Hank was feeling distinctly light-headed. Not totally surprising, if he had to guess where all his blood rushed. “Uh, yeah. Yeah,” he hurried to speak. “Sex should totally be a, uh, special moment in a relationship.”

She looked back up at him and didn’t smile exactly, but her face was all soft. “Yeah.”

Feeling emboldened by the success, Hank took a calculated risk. “So, can I see your room?”

Her attitude changed immediately. She crossed her arms and frowned a little. “No. A girl’s room is very private.”

Hank noticed a faint pink flush in her cheeks.

He grinned. “Let me guess, laundry all over the floor?”

“No!” Raven insisted.

Hank tried not to laugh at her obvious consternation.

Then Raven cracked a smile, finally loosening up enough to laugh at herself a little. And being there to witness her let her guard down felt pretty amazing.

He really wanted to linger there, and spend more time with her when she wasn’t pretending to be a perfect princess for her high school audience, but tomorrow was Friday and if he had even the slightest chance with Raven, he had to get her crazy brother a boyfriend.

“I should probably go, get to work with our guy to make him Charles-approved. But, uh, you want to maybe hang out after school tomorrow? To work on French,” he added quickly.

Raven nodded. “Right. Sure, that’s fine.”

“Okay! Great! Uh, I mean, cool. Yeah, I’m gonna,” he gestured to the door like an idiot and moved to leave.

“Hank?”

He spun around so fast his glasses slid down his nose.”Yeah?”

“Make sure he’s not a smoker. The guy?” Raven clarified at his look of confusion.

“Oh! Right.”

“And make him ditch the leather jacket. Charles is a vegetarian.”

Hank stared at her, baffled. Did she know?

Raven smirked again. “You better get going, huh?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hank fled, manfully, down the staircase and out the front door, his thoughts spinning in several directions. When he saw Raven for the first time, he’d told Sean there was a lot more to her than the surface. Clearly there were a lot of layers under that superficial surface. First, there was the whole surprise genius of her plan for Charles to have a chance encounter with the guy. Then it really seemed like she was actually, somehow, knew that Erik Lehnsherr was the guy they were trying to get Charles to date. And how could she possibly know that? Hank was the only one who saw Lehnsherr talk to Charles today.

Raven definitely knew more than she was letting on. And despite her obvious disdain for everything Charles-related, she knew him too. That he was a vegetarian who hated leather and smoking.

He was more curious than ever, but it could wait for another time. He had some serious damage control to do with Lehnsherr and Charles, and less than a day to magically makeover Lehnsherr from terrifying contestant in a police line-up to superwoke ultra legit dream guy.

Nothing was impossible for pursuit of true love, right? That better be true, otherwise he was screwed.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Hank killed the engine and turned to Sean in the passenger seat. “You’re sure this is right house? Because if we sneak into the wrong house—”

The front door opened then just in time for a guy to stumble into the yard and vomit impressively all over the hedges.

Sean looked at him. “You were saying?”

“Okay let’s go.”

He and Sean got out of the car and approached the house, completely ordinary and almost identical to every other house on the street. Excluding the teenager puking in the bushes. However, tonight this house was playing host to a party of Lehnsherr’s whole crowd. Hank didn’t know if it’s a classic “parents out of town” party or what. All he did know was that Sean caught wind of the rumor and this was their chance to get to Lehnsherr before Charles went to the concert tomorrow. If Hank didn’t pull off a makeover by then, they’d miss their opportunity for Lehnsherr to woo Charles and then they’d be back to square one in this mess.

They reached the front door and Hank steeled himself. Luckily, the kid puking was way too distracted by his gastronomic disaster to notice or stop them. If they found Lehnsherr before anyone realized they don’t belong there, Hank thought it should be fine. Of course, if anyone did look up long enough to notice them before that, they might be completely fucked.

Hank walked through the first floor of the house with caution, but it wasn’t like he’d never seen a lame house party before. Although this wasn’t really a party, he mused. More like a bunch of people hanging out with way more pot and beer than usual. Or maybe this was the usual for Lehnsherr’s crowd.

He reached a door that led into the backyard before he noticed Sean was behind him… like right behind him. Was he hiding?

“Dude. Are you scared of them or something?”

Sean glared at him. “Of course I’m scared, I’m not insane! Don’t you remember what happened at school? Summers almost kicked my ass, and there aren’t any teachers around here to suspend him if it goes down that way.”

He rolled his eyes as he slid the door open. “Yeah, but he thought you were about to make fun of him for being bi. As long as you don’t say anything homophobic, I doubt he’s even going to notice that you’re here.”

His friend stared at him. “Is it nice, living in your world? Or do you get a headache from the constant sunshine and rainbows?”

Squinting around the yard, lit only by a couple of footlights and a small firepit, Hank tuned out the rest of Sean’s aggrieved lecture as he tried to find Lehnsherr. Sometimes he put serious thought into switching to contacts. The idea of putting a tiny piece of plastic directly into his eye skeeved him out, but his glasses could really be a hindrance. Like trying to see in the dark with only source of light glaring against the lenses of his glasses. Damn. Had he missed something in the house? He thought he’d looked through every room, but maybe he missed him. Should he—

Oh, there! Someone threw out their cup into the firepit, and the resulting spike of flame cast light onto Lehnsherr’s scowling face.

“Thank fuck! Sean, c’mon, I found him.”

Hank started dragging his friend across the yard. Sean might be afraid to approach these kids away from the relative safety of school hallways and teachers, but Hank wasn’t worried. He was starting to get the impression that Sean hadn’t ever been to a party before… or done much outside of school besides field trips to a cappella competitions. In his experience, people at parties were usually more focused on getting wasted than bullying any nerds who happened to walk by them. He might be a bit of a geek when it came to science (okay a lot), but that didn’t mean he had no social life.

They were close now to the cluster of people around the firepit. Hank started to feel maybe just a little bit nervous as he got within a few feet of Lehnsherr. The guy definitely looked scarier in firelight and darkness. Damnit he was tall. He might even have a few inches on Hank.

Then suddenly he was right in front of Lehnsherr… who had noticed their approach. But he said nothing, just stared at them. And… and… shit shit shit, _what was he planning to say?!_

“Hi! Uh, how’s it going? Looks like a good… fire.”

Lehnsherr continued to stare at him like he was an over-large “no smoking” sign. He reached out, flicking his hand through the flame. Hank stepped back on instinct even though it wasn’t his hand nearly catching on fire.

“Uh… so—”

“If someone dared you to come here, you better leave while you can,” a new voice interrupted. Hank looked over to see Alex Summers glaring at them.

“No!” Hank assured him, “no, um, I came to talk to… er, him.” He nodded to Lehnsherr.

“Him.”

“Lehn—Erik. We came to talk to Erik.”

Summers remained incredulous, as did the man in question who had yet to speak.

Hank took a deep breath. “Look, I know about the deal you’ve got with Sebastian Shaw,” Lehnsherr’s eyes narrowed, “I also know it’s not going very well. I can help!” he added hastily.

Lehnsherr and Summers exchanged a look. Then Summers scowled and walked away, leaving them alone with Biker Voldemort.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Lehnsherr spoke for the first time. His voice carried an unexpected accent that Hank can’t quite place.

Right. That’s why he banished his minion. “So, Sebastian isn’t paying you three hundred dollars to take Charles Xavier out on a date?”

Lehnsherr said nothing for a few minutes.

“Do you want the money or not? We can help,” Sean broke the silence, his voice cracking a little.

“Why do you care about Xavier?”

Sean shivered. “We don’t care about the Witch, man. See, my friend here is interested in Xavier’s sister, Raven. But their dad’s got this crazy rule that Raven can’t date until Charles does, so—”

“Christ, what is it with this girl, she have whiskey-flavored tits or something?” Lehnsherr cut in.

Hank lurched forward, seething, before Sean caught him and pulled him back. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

That stupid prick; where did he get off saying filth like that about Raven? Scary as he was, Hank would’ve decked him if Sean hadn’t stopped him.

Sean held out his free hand between them. “We don’t want to get in your way, man, we want to help. Sebastian’s just an idiot with too much money, but we can help you get that money by helping you with Charles.”

Swallowing his distaste, Hank spoke up. “You struck out once already. If you fuck up a second time, you won’t get another chance.”

Lehnsherr looked more irritated by the minute, but he must not be as stupid as they thought because he seemed to realize he needed help. “And how are you going to help me?”

“Information,” Sean jumped to answer. “Likes, dislikes, stuff he loves or hates, his goals.”

“There’s a show tomorrow night, in the Village. It’s one of his favorite bands and he’s going to be there. You have to go, and ‘accidentally’ run into him.”

“Where’s the show at?”

“The Mustache Rodeo, on Bleecker Street.”

Lehnsherr stared at him like he’d just grown antlers out of his face. “Are you serious? I cannot be seen there, my reputation—”

“Suck it up, man!” Sean immediately cowered back under the look Lensherr shot him.

“C’mon, it’s one night. One night isn’t going to ruin your street cred, and it’ll get you that much closer to three hundred dollars,” Hank reasoned.

You’d think someone asked him to chug a bottle of Midori Sour the way Lehnsherr was scowling.

“Fucking hell,” he griped. “Alright.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, sticking one end into the fire to light it.

Lehnsherr had just raised it to his mouth when Hank remembered what Raven said. “Ooo, um. One more thing.” He pinched the cigarette and tossed it into the fire. “Charles hates smokers. And… you gotta ditch the leather jacket. He’s a vegetarian.”

“You have GOT to be joking.” Lehnsherr does not sound like he finds this funny at all.

“Three hundred dollars,” Hank repeated.

“Hey, you’re not going to get lucky in a leather jacket reeking like an ashtray. And I hear he’s easy,” Sean piped in.

Lehnsherr outright laughed at that, which Hank found more disturbing than his scowl. “Oh yeah? And how’d you find that out?” he asked with a wink.

Hank watched his friend turn bright red with embarrassment, which was really what he deserved. Calling Charles a slut was not cool.

“Everyone says so,” Sean muttered. “That he goes into the city to get laid all the time.”

“Well if everyone says so.”

But Lehnsherr looked much less sour than he had a minute ago. He may talk a lot of shit, but he was still a guy at the end of the day.

“Okay… Bleeker Street?”

“Doors open at eight, band’s on at ten.” Hank said.

Lehnsherr nodded. “I’ll be there.” Then he seemed to refocus on the two of them. “You two better split before much longer. Someone’s going to be drunk enough to start a fight soon.”

Sean gulped. Literally. Hank could heard it. “Yeah! Hank, with me?” and he took off like a scrawny ginger bat out of hell.

Hank gave Lehnsherr another look. “Don’t miss it, okay?”

Lehnsherr made a shooing motion. And Hank, not being an idiot, didn’t push his luck any further and rushed to the exit.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 Charles loved judging people. He could admit it and everything. There was something fulfilling about looking at passerby on the street and knowing things might be bad, but at least he wasn’t _that_. It was petty and small, sure, but still.

He and Moira decided to have dinner in the city first, but the food part had long since passed. Moira assigned herself the DD title after Charles’s third pint. He put up a token protest (as Moira drove like an audition for _Fast & Furious _), then happily set into the next beer when it arrived. As he looked out the window of the restaurant, he saw the kind of girl so ubiquitous in the city stumble over a crack in the sidewalk across the street. He shouldn’t judge, really, those heels were six inches at least, and she looked like she hadn’t had a full meal since Lindsay Lohan could pass a drug test. But he just knew her story. Manageable eating disorder, moderate drug problem, has thirty ‘friends’ in her phone but no one she could call to bail her out of jail.

“Moira,” he said, annoyed when his tongue dragged out her name, “d’you think she’s any drugs on her? I didn’t bring any.”

Moira sighed loudly, looking skywards as if praying for strength. “You’re not asking a stranger on the street for drugs.”

“Why not?” he whined even though his drunk brain knew better.

“Because I want to go to the show and I can’t go if I have to take you to the hospital.”

He wanted to argue the point, as his drunken brain really wanted drugs, but the tiny bit that’s still sober took over long enough to concede gracefully. Moira was right, and he knew that too—expensive clothes didn’t always equate to quality drugs. Just because that girl was dressed like an extra on _Gossip Girl_ didn’t mean she knew how to buy good drugs. Charles may like to fuck around with drugs on occasion, but he didn’t have to be an idiot.

“Fiiiiiine,” he grumbled.

“Just finish your beer and let’s go, it’s already eight.”

“We’re only missing the openers, keep your panties on.”

“At least I’m wearing some.”

“I don’t really go in for the crossdressing panty kink, but thank you for your interest in my sex life,” Charles shot back.

Moira rolled her eyes. “Chug, bitch.”

He flipped her off but finished the pint. As soon as he set the glass back down, Moira was digging through his jacket. She fished out his wallet and stuck enough cash into their check to make their server very happy, then grabbed his hand and started leading him to the exit.

Thirty minutes and one uncomfortable cab ride later, they were standing in line outside the bar. Charles was attempting to engage Moira in a discussion about who the next queer icon will be now that Lady Gaga has taken a step back, but she wasn’t even pretending to listen to him. She really is _absolutely_ no fun when she’s got her mind set on something. Charles mused to himself as Moira tugged on his wrist to make him move forward in line.  He should have known better, Moira was damn-near fanatical about the Scissor Sisters. So fanatical she didn’t seem to care that they had no plan for getting drinks. Unless Charles flirted with some clueless bloke who didn’t realize he’d just bought alcohol for a seventeen-year-old. When he brought up this pressing concern to her, Moira just snorted and pulled at his arm again to move forward another place in line.

“Please, like you ever have trouble getting free drinks if you want them.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Charles frowned at her.

“I’m really not,” Moira said. “Remember that time you ran up a two hundred dollar tab at that club, and they guy got the check and just, like, melted when you batted your eyelashes at him. _And_ he didn’t even throw a bitch-fit when you wouldn’t go home with him.”

“Buying me drinks does not include a free pass at my body,” Charles snapped, a little irritated with her. Really. She should be above that kind of misogynist bullshit.

“Yeah, but usually you have to remind them of that. This guy was just like, ‘aw it’s okay baby, drink whatever you want, I’m just humbled to be in your presence’.”

“It was not like that.”

Moira laughed. “It really, really was, you little tease.”

“How dare you; I am not a tease,” he spluttered in fake indignation.

“That’s true, you usually follow through.”

Before Charles could say anything back, Moira pushed him up to the bouncer at the doors.

“Thank fuck,” she muttered when they both made it past him. The show wasn’t advertised as 21+, but sometimes it was hard to tell until it was too late to get a refund on the ticket.

She started pushing her way over to the front of the crowd, but she was grinning when she finally found a spot and turned to Charles. Now that they were actually inside, she’d lost that wild-eyed drive that compelled her through the chaos.

And thank fuck for that, Charles thought. Maybe she’ll finally relax and stop killing his vibe. He glanced around them, then looked to the bar for likely candidates. He’d prefer to find a hot college aged bloke tonight, but he’ll go older if needed.

Sometimes Charles starts to reconsider his decision not to invest in a fake ID. He could get one if he wanted, he knew people, but it’d be too much temptation. If he had a fake, he might want to come to the city and go clubbing every single weekend. And he needed to keep his head down until he was accepted to Oxford, he had to study and keep up his frightening GPA. He went out enough as it was, even tempered by the necessity of flirting with older men to keep him in alcohol.

Besides, he really didn’t need to risk getting caught with one. If he were caught in a club after hours drunk, that would be bad enough. But getting busted with a fake ID would make it about a hundred times worse. With the first scenario, he’d receive a misdemeanor and a fine. He’d only be arrested if the cop was annoyed or feeling particularly vindictive. However, a fake ID could be more dangerous. An officer might decide to actually take him in and charge him with something. And it would be humiliating to have a criminal record for something so stupid, especially before he’s even graduated from uni.

So. Shamelessly flaunting the twink look to get free drinks it is.

But all of a sudden, Moira jerked her head out of her phone to look at the stage, where a couple of techs had just begun to assemble new equipment and instruments. She started slapping Charles’s arm. “Charles, look, look, it’s starting, they’re here!!”

He shifted away from her, wincing. “Yes, Moira, I can see that.”

Then a group of neon-clad people trooped onto the stage and Moira let out of muted shriek and started hitting him again.

“Moira, I’m only here for ‘SWERLK’, shriek to someone else!” Charles shouted over the opening chords.

Moira had started jumping around and dancing, and may not have heard him.

By the time the Scissor Sisters do play “SWERLK”, it’s been over an hour and Charles has completely forgotten to scheme his way into a beer. To his surprise, it was turning out to be a rather good show and he’s had a great time bopping around with Moira and scream-singing along to the patchwork of lyrics he does know. All the dancing and the press of the crowd made him sweaty and a tad claustrophobic, so he shouted “water!” to Moira and wiggled his way through the crowd to the bar.

He held up a twenty and yelled his order over the music when the bartender finally gets around to him, then leaned on the counter to wait. He scanned the area around him idly. Hmm, he hasn’t even looked for any cute boys so far tonight— _must_ be a good show.

A very cute blonde met his eye, then promptly blushed and looked away. Well, Charles was assuming that was a blush, it was much too dark in here to tell for sure. He smirked and mentally bookmarked that one for later.

The next thing that caught his attention was a set of lovely broad shoulders, so perfectly sculpted you could probably square a table on that ninety-degree angle. A worn grey t-shirt strained across them and fell just above the man’s ass, which was obscured by relaxed-fit jeans, to Charles’s disappointment. Though not everyone can be as lucky as himself, with his generous round bum, Charles conceded loftily.

The man’s head was turned away from him and he was slouching over a beer on the bar counter. Yet Charles was able to recognize him after a second look. He couldn’t even point to any distinguishing features, but he knew.

What the fuck was Erik Lehnsherr doing here? At The Mustache Rodeo? A name so awful that only gay men, giggling straight girls, and more patient queer people were able to stomach. This was _so_ not his scene. Wrong kind of music, wrong kind of club, wrong kind of people.

Charles moved two seats down until he was a few inches away from Lehnsherr, and coughed loudly.

Lehnsherr turned toward the sound and acknowledged him with a nod.

Charles glared back. Really? He was just going to sit there and not say anything?

“Are you stalking me?” Charles demanded.

“Why would you think that?” Lehnsherr said to the filthy countertop.

“School, the bookstore, here. None of which hold any interest for you, except I happened to be there and you seem to have decided to torture me—”

The bartender interrupted to hand him his two bottles of water.

“Can we wrap this up? You’re kind of ruining the show for me,” Lehnsherr said, finally looking at Charles and standing up from the bar.

Oh he was so not buying that. “Really. What song are they playing right now?”

“Think it’s a remix of ‘Take Your Mama’. Why, don’t you like it?”

...Okay, lucky guess.

“You actually like the Scissor Sisters?”

Lehnsherr shrugged. “Well, they’re no La Roux or Robyn or Alphabeat, but sure, they’re alright.” He started moving closer to the stage.

Charles followed without thought, blindsided by the conversation. “Oh stop it, there’s no way you listen to Alphabeat.”

Lehnsherr glanced back at him. “Maybe you don’t know as much about me as you think. Why wouldn’t I like them?”

“Because they haven’t released an album in six years, and even I only like them ironically.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Guess I’m just not cool enough to like things ironically.”

“Interesting argument. So you smoke for the delicious taste of ash in your mouth, and wear that leather jacket year-round because it’s just so comfortable?” Charles fired back. “Certainly not to look cool or anything.”

“Quit, actually,” Lehnsherr retorted. “And I ditched the jacket, little too warm for April.”

Charles stared. “You quit smoking?”

“Turns out they’re bad for you.” Lehnsherr grinned at whatever expression Charles’s face was making. “Why, don’t you believe me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s hard to believe you quit cold turkey overnight.”

The grin on the other man’s face widened as he leaned closer. “If you don’t believe me, there’s always an easy way to find out,” he smirked and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

To his deep horror, Charles realized he didn’t feel nauseated at the implication at all. In fact, the idea of making out with Lehnsherr… No, no, no! Oh god, cut that train of thought off at the knees! Lehnsherr might be halfway pretty, but he was still an asshole. Wasn’t he?

Lehnsherr was still grinning like he could tell Charles was just a little bit tempted. “Come to the party with me tomorrow night,” he said abruptly.

Where did that come from? The random request does serve to sort of snap Charles out of whatever weird spell Lehnsherr managed to cast. He shook his head, gripping the water bottles tight as he started to move back to Moira. “You never give up, huh?”

“Was that a yes?” Erik was trying to keep up, but Charles can slip through the gaps between people far more easily.

“No,” he tossed back over his shoulder.

“Was that a no then?”

Charles bit his lip, smiling, glad Erik can’t see his face now. “No!” he shouts back, laughing.

Erik was shouting something back, but Charles couldn’t really hear him, all he caught was “...tomorrow…!”

He flicked a hand behind him dismissively, not bothering to see if Erik left or not. Either way, he must have put him off long enough to make it back to Moira.

A minute later, he was bobbing his head in time with the beat next to Moira, Lehnsherr nowhere to be seen, high on the energy from the crowd and the band. And then he wondered for a minute if Erik liked this song too.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I love all the crazy fan people out there, but I would ask that you not repost this on other sites like Goodreads.


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